


Abrupt

by lipsstainedbloodred



Series: visible world [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, canon has no power here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: A calm night in takes an abrupt turn when Jon spirals into a panic attack.
Relationships: Implied Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: visible world [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679638
Comments: 14
Kudos: 295





	Abrupt

It’s late afternoon. The bedroom window is up, letting in the cooling breeze as summer dies into fall. The sun slants inside, throwing the room into a myriad of golden hues and soft reds. Jon has himself tucked against Martin’s side, swaddled in one of Gerry’s long sleeve shirts, head resting on Martin’s chest where he can close his eyes and focus on his heart beating slow and steady. 

“Ah-“ Martin inhales sharply and Jon blinks up at him sleepily. “Damn, okay, new plan.”

“Hm?” 

“Hm?” Martin takes his eyes off of his Switch, looking down at where Jon has plastered himself against his side. “Oh, nothing. Just keep getting killed by this Guardian.”

“Let me see.”

Martin obediently shifts his arms so Jon is more fully enveloped and he doesn’t have to strain his neck to watch. Martin’s fingers fly over the buttons with determination. Enough so that when he’s killed again Jon feels a little bad. 

“You’re not sneaking enough.” Jon says. 

“Mm.” Martin agrees. 

Jon’s eyes drift closed after a while, still listening to the music and sharp little ‘hyah!’s coming from the screen. He lets his hand drift over Martin’s chest, occasionally scrunching at the fabric of his shirt and then smoothing it back down again. He barely twitches when Martin makes a triumphant sound, but his lips curve up into a smile on their own accord. 

It’s so rare for them to have time off like this, and Jon almost feels guilty he’s not working on a lesson plan or grading tests because he knows he has work he could be getting done. Almost feels guilty, but not quite. It’s hard to feel anything other than joy when Martin takes a hand from his console to run it through Jon’s hair and squeeze his shoulder. Harder still to feel anything but love and wonderment at the lips that press themselves to his forehead, sweet and sure. 

“Are you tired?” Martin asks. 

Jon hums noncommittally. His insomnia is a fickle thing and he’s never sure when or if he might get any real rest. He feels good right now, though. He feels like he might drop off at any second, though whether or not that’s actually true remains to be seen. 

Martin shifts just a little, reaching over to the nightstand, and then his arms are back around Jon. Martin’s hand cups the side of his face hesitantly, and then moves down to his jaw to tilt his head up a little. Jon makes a small noise of surprise when he feels warm, wet lips cover his own but then he leans into it. 

Martin’s hands feel like they’re everywhere at once, holding him together and taking him apart. A tongue probes at his bottom lip and Jon feels a spike of revulsion hit the bottom of his stomach so rapidly he has to pull back with a gasp. “No.” He says. He means for it to come out firm, but the word shakes harder than his hands. 

Martin sucks in a sharp breath. “ _Jon_ , I— I am _so_ sorry—“

“Stop. Just...give me a minute.”

Martin falls still and silent beneath him. Jon sits up, extracting himself from Martin’s grip, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand roughly. It doesn’t make the sick feeling in his chest go away, but it’s easier to focus on cleaning himself up than looking at the sad look he knows Martin is giving him. He starts picking at his shirt sleeve, lips tingly and raw where he’s rubbed them too hard. He tries the breathing thing his therapist had wanted him to try; in seven, out eleven. It’s rubbish, he thinks, but it’s nice to have something else to focus on for a moment. 

They’ll have to talk about it. Christ. Jon knows they have to talk about it. But even he doesn’t know, sometimes, until it’s too late. And Martin doesn’t need that. He needs consistency that Jon just can’t give. He—

He’s breathing too quickly again, and he digs his fingers into his arms, doubling over. 

“Jon,” Martin says softly, “Jon, you’re okay.”

Jon half expects to feel Martin’s hands on him again, heavy and calloused and warm, but he doesn’t. Jon chokes on a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Jon, I need to know what you need.”

“I don’t _know_.” Jon grits out. 

“Jon—“

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Jon shouts. His hands find purchase in his own hair and he pulls, gasping at the pain. 

“Okay!” Martin tries, his voice gone high and squeaky with concern. “Okay, that’s fine. Do you want me to leave?”

Jon nods, and then shakes his head vehemently. “No. No, don’t— don’t leave me alone.”

“Then I won’t.” Martin says firmly. “I’ll stay right here. Do you— do you want me to stop talking?”

Jon swallows hard and it feels like he’s swallowing his own tongue. He feels dizzy, and heavy. “Yes,” he says, “no.”

“Okay,” Martin says, a little softer, “okay.”

It feels like forever before he can unwind his hands from his hair, and even longer before he can uncurl enough to look at Martin. Martin’s eyes are red rimmed and glassy, like he’s been holding back tears, and that’s almost enough to send him spiraling back down again. Instead Martin just offers him his hand, palm up, and Jon uses it to crawl into Martin’s lap. 

Martin’s hands are hesitant to hold him. Jon makes a truly pathetic noise, his arms tight around Martin’s throat and head up under his chin. Martin breathes out, low and slow, and cradles the back of his head. 

“There we go.” Martin whispers. “I’ve got you, Jon. You’re safe.”

He is. God, he really is. Jon finally gets his breathing back under control, his chest moving in time with Martin’s deep breaths in and out. He feels like an ass, and opens his mouth to say as much but nothing comes out save for a broken off sob. 

“That’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Martin’s fingers scratch gently at his scalp, his other hand smoothing over the bumps of his spine. Jon’s hand shoots back and wraps around Martin’s wrist, ignoring Martin’s sound of alarm and shoving Martin’s hand under the back of his shirt. “Are you— okay.” Martin picks back up with the gentle stroking, and now Jon can feel the rough worn calluses on his palm and fingers and it’s better. It feels better. 

“Thank you.” Jon whispers. 

Martin squeezes Jon just a little tighter. 

When Jon finally speaks again his voice feels rough and jagged, like speaking through chewed glass. “I don’t— I don’t know what happened.”

“That’s okay.”

“That’s not—“ Jon pulls back, making a frustrated noise, his hands moving to clasp Martin’s cheeks, “You deserve someone whose desires are consistent, Martin.”

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.”

“But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s— you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be—“

“Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” 

Jon knows. “Yes.”

“Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jon says, because he so deeply wants that to be true. And maybe if he says it enough, it can be. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Martin says again, fingers digging into his back. “I love you.” 

Jon buries his face back into Martin’s shoulder and for the longest time just lets himself be held. 


End file.
